


Charcoal Dust and Blue Paint

by BigMammaLlama5



Category: Carmilla (Web Series)
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Maybe some smut later, domestic idiots, who knows this is just fun for when i feel the urge to write
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-25
Updated: 2016-03-19
Packaged: 2018-05-16 03:28:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5811943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BigMammaLlama5/pseuds/BigMammaLlama5
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some domestic hollstein blurbs, Laura (a journalist) and Carmilla (an artist) are neighbors.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Flight Cancelations

**Promt: “i know we hate each other but it’s christmas eve and your flight was cancelled please come inside”**

**\-----**

Laura sighed and leaned heavily into the wooden doorframe, the edge digging into her shoulder through her woolen jumper.

“Karnstein if you don’t get in here I swear I’ll drag you in by your hair.”

Glaring across the hall and sitting dejectedly on a black rolling suitcase was Laura’s ever broody and extremely rude neighbor, Carmilla Karnstein. An artist of some sort, she had moved in not four months prior and right off the bat Laura wanted to strangle her-even if she was stupidly attractive with her wild mess of dark curls and what her best friend LaFontaine liked to call “Siren Seduction Eyes”. Ten minutes earlier a raised voice had drawn the young journalist from a holiday Doctor Who marathon and lead her to accidentally catch the end of the irate woman’s conversation. A nor’easter had swept in ahead of the local new station’s prediction and all flights were canceled for the evening.

“You know the snow isn’t going to let up and we’re both by ourselves. Wouldn’t you rather be all doom and gloom with someone?”

Carmilla grimaced and pocketed her phone. “Misery does love company…” she griped.

“That’s the spirit.” Laura answered dryly and pushed away from the doorframe. “Put your things in your apartment and come over when you’re ready. I’ve got hot chocolate and tea but if you want something stronger bring your own.”

With a pointed look, answered with an arched brow that screamed annoyance, Laura retreated into her little one bedroom apartment leaving the door cracked in an unspoken welcome. She ignored the snide remark about Doctor Who and tried to figure out the small wave of relief meant when the door clicked closed a moment later and she could hear boots being toe’d off by the entrance.

_Some company…_


	2. RIP Spatula

**Prompt: “hi we’re neighbours and omg are you alright i could smell cooking burning - whoaaa now that’s just embarrassing? step aside i’ll handle this”**

**\-----**

There was no mistaking it. Either Carmilla had left her soldering iron on or she left a candle burning too close to the polyester blackout curtains in her bedroom again.

The hall _reeked_.

Laura couldn’t help but wrinkle her nose as the smell of burning wafted out from under the door of her neighbor across the hall. She groaned in dismay when the sanctity of her own apartment gave no relief from the sharpness of burnt plastic. Laura cursed under her breath and wrenched her two (and a half) windows open to let in the crisp bite of early December. The cold would bother her if she stayed, so she stripped out of her coat and marched her way out and across the hall. Carmilla must have heard her approaching because the door swung open after a single sharp rap from her knuckles. Laura coughed from the acrid smell and waved her hand in front of her face, the unmistakable energetic vocals of Joan Jett and a grungy artist greeting her.

“What in the world did you _do_?”

“Define _do_ …”

Laura stared at her neighbor, trying to focus on the poorly concealed embarrassment and not the messy bun or the hastily buttoned plaid shirt that still exposed too much fair skin. But the wet blue stripe of paint peeking out from behind the red fabric screamed at her. The tiny brunette huffed and looked over the other woman’s shoulder into the equally small but eclectic abode, spotting a smoking pan on the stove top and the water running in the sink.

“You left the spatula in the pan again didn’t you.”

“I was working!” Carmilla exclaimed, letting Laura shoulder her way past her in a beeline to the kitchenette.

“Next time just text me or make a sandwich!” Laura rolled her eyes and studied the charred plastic in the frying pan. “Ugh… yeah, I can’t save this.”

“I wasn’t asking for you to.” The sudden closeness of Carmilla at her side made Laura jump, the pan clanking on the heating coils.

“Well I-just go work, I’m going to make you something because I don’t want to have to answer to the police if you end up burning the building down.” She snapped, feeling a little heated under the collar.

Carmilla gave no response other than some kind of annoyed grunt and retreated into the living room that doubled as her studio, Joan Jett calling out _Do you wanna touch me?_ Laura shook herself and decided blocking out the punk rock and scratch of the pallet knife would be for the best because she still wanted to find out how far that stripe of blue paint went.


	3. 12 Minutes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The overwhelming feeling of needing to draw.

Carmilla snuggled deeper into the low backed red armchair, flipping idly through a mostly-used pleather-bound sketchbook. A soft breeze from the cracked window ruffled her mop of dark loose curls she had thrown up into a messy bun. She yawned wildly and cringed as her jaw cracked, vibrating through her teeth. It was early, the grey morning of the minutes just before dawn casting her small apartment into a silent lull. Carmilla had stayed up all night working feverishly on a painting due later that afternoon, an abstract of blues and golds to represent the feeling of your heart leaping. It was an obnoxiously difficult assignment. Creating a visual interpretation of a physical feeling or reaction was a lot harder than she thought it would be.

 

But it was finished and sitting quietly on her stained wooden easel. Her back and knees ached tiredly in a good way. Multiple hours and weeks of planning, sketching, tests, and concepting all cumulated into a single two-by-four foot hand stretched canvas. Carmilla was content and felt as if she had reached her goal worthy of not just a decent grade, but a thought provoking piece.

 

Soft sleepy noises rose from her small matching red couch and Carmilla turned her head in time to see her Neighbor-her friend, Laura, shift and roll onto her side facing the artist. She had insisted on staying up with her, bringing a bagful of work and a season of Doctor Who on DVD for breaks.

 

_I don’t have classes on Friday-I’ll stay up if I want to. Plus I don’t want you setting off the building fire alarm again._

 

The exhausted woman had to stifle a smile at the memory of the huffy little spitfire. The tiny brunette made it until nearly three before nodding off halfway through a paragraph on some kind of paper. Carmilla had rescued the perilously tilting laptop with a mad leap and dash across her apartment. After putting the laptop securely on her coffee table she had thrown a blanket over Laura and shuffled back to her easel. She preferred not to think why exactly she had taken the extra moment to save the document before closing the laptop. It was just a simple friendly gesture, but Carmilla wasn’t one to randomly perform such acts.

 

And now here she sat, tired but not too tired to actually sleep. Her brain still endlessly cycled with ideas and thoughts that chased each other from one corner of her mind to the next. She penned notes here and there on older sketches, sometimes doodling another option to a concept out to the side. The heavy technical pencil was a cool comforting weight in her hand as she paused at a half blank page of creamy paper. Carmilla smoothed the pads of her fingers over the surface and sank further into the cushions as she thought about what she could put there. She knew she didn’t HAVE to fill up every single page, but she wanted to. With a thought not immediately coming forward she slipped the bookmark string into place and continued paging through her sketchbook.

 

Laura sighed in her sleep and tucked her arm under the throw pillow she was using. Carmilla glanced over again and followed the curved line of her friend’s form under the blanket before losing interest and returning to her idling. She knew she really should get to bed for at least a few hours but the chair was too comfortable. Plus she really liked this silent companionship. She felt more at home when Laura was over and taking up space than she did a lot of the time by herself. Oh she didn’t always feel that way, but they had formed an unlikely bond and Carmilla was loathe to give it up now. As much as she annoyed her, Carmilla really did care for Laura. Maybe more than she was willing to admit.

 

Before she knew it the sky was turning to rosey pinks and oranges, the greys dissipating and the birds beginning to stir in earnest in the mid-spring dawn. Carmilla closed the sketchbook and tucked it onto her chest to watch the world come alive. The tips of the huge oaks across the street were slowly streaked with the bright yellows and greens of sunrise. Carmilla was content to observe the colors that reminded her of promise and fresh starts. She didn’t know how long she sat there but the silence and easy calm was a balm to the hectic week she was finally finishing.

 

Out of the corner of her eye, the morning light hit the edge of the small couch. Carmilla shifted her gaze back to Laura and felt her breath catch a little in her throat. Suddenly without warning, the urge to fill that small half page in her sketchbook overwhelmed her. Carmilla didn’t get the feeling often, but the closest thing she could compare it to was the feeling of diving under the crashing surf. You feel up-ended and consumed for a split second by that singular sensation of the joy to just _draw_. And if you weren’t quick enough, the feeling faded and left you with an empty melancholy taste in your mouth.

 

Eager slender hands flipped the sketchbook back open by the bookmark string, the pleather spine creaking softly in protest. Carmilla’s dark eyes roved over the warmly lit face of her friend, a practiced eye seeking out shapes and contours as the light grew stronger. She didn’t have a lot of time before the light would be too different to continue. So with a deep breath and checking the time, Carmilla began.

 

Soft scratches of lead on paper were the only noises from inside the dim apartment as the artist hurried to catch the figure before her. A carefully light sketch of ovals and rough polygons took form and eased into softer lines of a relaxed brow, the gentle bump of the bridge of a nose, the curve of barely parted lips. Haphazard swoops filled in locks of sweeping hair, tight careful hatching giving depth to the dip in the hollow of a throat and the graceful line of a clavicle drawn into strong muscles of a shoulder. The precise wrinkles of the fabric of the grey tank top getting barely any attention and a quick fill of value. Highlights of the cheekbone and forehead were left untouched, the nose carefully defined to allow some prominence. Long dark lashed brushed cheeks and long slim fingers curled loosely just under the chin.

 

A deep sigh and another turn and the spell was broken, Carmilla left feeling winded and staring at the smooth muscles in Laura’s back. A startling likeness of her subject filled most of the empty space now, but the sensation of being tossed under the waves of the ocean hadn’t quite left her yet.

 

Swallowing thickly, Carmilla carefully penned in _06:58, 12 Minutes_ next to the sketch. But Carmilla knew that those measly twelve minutes had made her realize that maybe… just _maybe_ … Laura was a bit more than a friend.


	4. Charcoal Kisses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which an inquiry about pizza turns into finally some relationship development.

Laura’s footsteps echoed up the narrow tiled stairwell, the low-heeled boots dominantly clacking on each metal-edged step. The reporter hitched her leather messenger bag higher onto her shoulder and her blue bike helmet bounced from where she had clipped it onto the strap. Luckily class was now out for the summer at the small local college she taught at during the day, so her load was immensely lighter without the extra assignments and papers.

 

Laura launched herself up the last few steps and swung out onto the third floor landing. She tugged her phone out of the back pocket of her jeans and shot off a text to Carmilla-after checking to make sure it was as buddy-buddy as she could manage that is.

 

_Gonna order a big ass pizza u want some_

 

The tiny brunette had noticed over the past two months that Carmilla had been acting more and more attentive towards her. At first she had thought it was just the artist being friendly, but after an encounter with one of Laura’s coworkers named Danny she quickly understood that her friend might have warmer feelings for her than she thought.

 

It wasn’t entirely one-sided though… Carmilla was a very attractive woman, and Laura _was_ very gay. She couldn’t help but flirt back sometimes and she justified it as a natural response while trying not to think about how much she enjoyed the snarky woman’s company. Or the way said snarky woman flirted back. Or the way she looked at her. Or teased her. Or lingered a few seconds too long when she let Laura invade her space and hug her.

 

The _honest_ truth was she had fallen for Carmilla. She just couldn’t admit it to herself yet.

 

Laura grumped out a noise of annoyance and slid her phone back into her pocket before fishing out her lanyard, practically jamming her key into the lock as if it had caused her some great offense. She tumbled into her little apartment with a relieved huff as the temperature dropped a drastic amount from the hall.

 

She slung her bag down carefully into its designated chair at the small kitchen table and picked her thin cotton shirt away from where it was sticking to the small of her back. Her phone had yet to trill back a response from Carmilla but she knew the woman was home-she had seen her shiny black Bonneville in its parking space. Laura flapped her shirt around her middle and decided to just go check and see if the artist was available. She’d change in a moment; Carmilla had seen her in grosser conditions before.

 

Quick steps led her back out into the hall and around one of their elderly hall mates trundling to the elevator. Laura rapped eagerly on the heavy wooden door and waited, catching her flushed reflection in the tarnished brass 307 screwed into the chipped dark red paint. A muffled _it’s open!_ called through the inside of the apartment and Laura slipped in without hesitation.

 

All of the windows (a full three to her two and a half-much to her jealousy) were thrown wide open and the early summer heat seeped into the bright living space. The acrid stench of spray fixative made her scrunch her nose as she wandered deeper in to Carmilla’s home. She let her eyes wander over the familiar stacks of art and philosophy books, an absurd amount of candles, the handmade knick knacks and pottery and paintings she had bought or collected from friends, and the obvious clutter of someone too preoccupied with their activities. It wasn’t cramped per se, but it was certainly cozy and comfortably full. Accents of red and black peeked through in furniture and small details like kitchen towels and hand woven floor mats. Her favorite was the random metal sign on the top of her kitchen cupboards, painted red and rusting with blocky type “THIS IS A GOOD SIGN”.

 

Laura strolled into the den, her boots muffled on the carpet as she approached the closed curtains of the half Carmilla had blocked off for studio space. She could hear the soft scuffing of her rubbing a flat surface but had no idea what the artist was doing.

 

“Hey!”

 

She scuffing paused long enough for Carmilla to call out “Hey, what’s up?” before resuming with her task.

 

Laura stepped closer to the closed curtain and bounced on her toes. “I guess you didn’t get my text then?”

 

“No, sorry… I was uh… _dammit._ I was working and my hands are dirty.” A sheet of paper flapped to the floor. “You can come in if you want, I’m just trying to start on those pieces for your article.”

 

“Oh great! I’m still glad you could pick up this job, the other guy was a tool…” She trailed off with a grumble and pawed through the heavy curtain.

 

Large sheets of a soft looking expensive paper were laid out on a drop cloth and dashed with values of rich black charcoal dust. Carmilla stood at the table against the window in a white tank top and one of her many pairs of black jeans with her hair thrown up. Dirty smudges marred the smooth fair skin of toned arms and pinched fingerprints stood out starkly on the fitted shirt. She turned when Laura sneezed and tugged the cheap construction mask away from her nose and mouth.

 

“Sorry about the dust, I think I have an extra mask if you want it?” She offered lazily, shaking dark messy bangs out of her eyes.

 

“No, I’m good.” Laura answered with a sniff. “What are you doing exactly?”

 

Carmilla jerked her head in a “come see” motion and repositioned the mask over her thin nose. She waited until Laura had picked her way around the small studio and stood beside her.

 

“Your article is on the working lower class, right?” She gestured to a couple of printouts of weathered people taped to the wall. “I’m creating a grungy base to work on top of. Easiest way to achieve that sometimes is with a jar of charcoal.”

 

Laura could tell the artist had her iconic smirk plastered to her face by the way her eyes crinkled at the corners and her brows rose almost arrogantly. Now that she was standing next to Carmilla, she noticed that her hands and wrists looked like she had buried them in the remains of a campfire-which _technically_ she had… anyways. Laura nodded and watched Carmilla shake out a small amount onto a fresh sheet of paper. She was about to ask another question when the artist leaned in to look more closely at a photo of an elderly woman, down to the most recently prepared paper, and then back up to the photo. A few long glances later and Carmilla hummed lowly in her chest before beginning to carefully scuff the pile of charcoal out. She worked carefully, using the planes of her fingers to create sweeps and swoops that mimicked the contrasts in the photo.

 

“Any particular reason why you’re subjecting yourself to charcoal lung?”

 

Laura started when Carmilla’s lazy drawl brought her back from zoning out and watching her work.

 

“Oh, yeah. Pizza. I was gonna order and see if you wanted half or something.” She rushed out, heat crawling up her neck when her friend paused and met her gaze-but not before she had given her a heavy once-over. Laura felt as if Carmilla was sizing up a meal-which was ridiculous of course.

 

“I mean-if you’re not busy-which you are so I guess it was kinda silly of me to ask but I know sometimes you put off eating if you get really focused and-what?”

 

Carmilla laughed lowly and tilted her head.

 

“I said sure. I’d like that very much.”

 

“Oh. Okay! Great! Uh-how’s just plain cheese?” Laura scrambled to recover, hoping her blush wasn’t terribly evident.

 

“Throw pepperoni and peppers on half of it and I’ll cover the cinnamon sticks you like.”

 

“Alright I can do that.” Laura rushed out, relieved that Carmilla had ignored her awkward rambling for the millionth time.

 

The artist hummed in amusement and returned to her task, sure fingers pushing the dust around and pressing it into the soft tooth of the paper. Laura watched for a beat longer and tugged her phone out of her pocket, carefully stepping back to avoid bumping into the worktable. She was about to unlock her phone to call when one of Carmilla’s old sketchbooks caught her attention. It was flopped open to a myriad of notes and scribbles, but she could just make out a sketch on the next page as the breeze ruffled the paper.

 

_Was that…?_

 

“Carmilla?”

 

“What’s up, creampuff?”

 

“Can I… your sketchbook. I saw something- _by accident!_ ” Laura backpedaled quickly when Carmilla whipped her head around at a blinding speed.

 

“It was the wind! I know you don’t like people looking at your stuff, I didn’t mean to see it. I can-“ Her breath caught in her throat when Carmilla stepped into her space in a whirl of charcoal and faint expensive perfume.

 

Despite the lack of distance, the artist was more concerned with the sketchbook. Laura just happened to be standing where she wanted to be. Her hand hovered outstretched over the book, unsure of what to do. Laura didn’t even dare to breathe; the already warm room heating further with Carmilla’s close proximity and the attraction bubbling low in her belly. She kept her eyes trained on the side of the nervous woman’s neck. Tendons gently strained and the column of the artist’s throat bobbed with a thick swallow. Tension radiated off of rigid narrow shoulders but dissipated so quickly it threw Laura off guard. Carmilla flexed her fingers nervously and turned her impossibly dark eyes to Laura’s flushed face.

 

“You can look.”

 

Laura almost didn’t catch it Carmilla spoke so softly. Her mouth hung open for a moment as Carmilla retreated and forced herself back to work in an attempt to regain control of her mild bout of panic. Laura felt like her heart was in her throat and her lungs were pressing against her ribs. She shakily set her phone down on the tabletop and picked up the sketchbook with trembling fingers. The thick paper crinkled as she turned to the drawing that had caught her eye. Laura couldn’t help the small gasp that escaped her chest.

 

Dumbstruck was probably a good way to describe Laura at the moment. Dumbstruck and beyond flattered. On the page was a carefully crafted image of her likeness in graphite with a set of small neat numbers penned off to the side. Her eyes greedily drank in the drawing and every single hatch mark. It was gorgeous and a very personal insight to the artist’s mind-Laura didn’t think Carmilla had thought about her all that much. Apparently she was very wrong.

 

“This is me?” She asked in a small voice.

 

While she had been lost in her observation, Carmilla had set aside her newest sheet of paper and attacked a few with a can of spray fix. The artist straightened up and squared her shoulders before turning to face Laura.

 

She pulled the mask down under her chin again and chewed on her lip with a curt nod. A weak “yeah” eeked out in a show of shyness Laura hadn’t seen before.

 

“It’s very beautiful.” Laura complimented.

 

Carmilla smiled softly and hesitated for just a moment. “I had an attractive subject.”

 

Laura’s head jerked up at the quiet admittance and proceeded to do a fine impersonation of a fish. She could feel her face burning and started to wonder if she was reading too far into Carmilla’s words. Laura swallowed thickly.

 

“I think the artist might have a biased opinion.” She countered, drawing a genuine grin from Carmilla.

 

“Biased maybe, but sincere.”

 

Laura’s eyes fell back to the page in an attempt to find some footing. If Carmilla was saying what Laura _thought_ she was saying… Hoo boy was she going to be in trouble.

 

“Laura?”

 

The voice came from right in front of her and the tiny brunette wondered how she had gotten so close. She also wondered why the sudden use of her real name left her stomach waltzing. With just a little apprehension, Laura forced her gaze away from the safety of the sketchbook and to Carmilla’s dark eyes. The artist’s gaze flicked from where they peered into Laura’s eyes then down to her lips and back up. Laura could see the apprehension bubbling under the surface and figured the only way to see how it was going to pan out was to return the banter.

 

“Perhaps I’ve got a biased opinion too.”

 

“And what would that be?” Carmilla’s gaze was now heavily resting on Laura’s mouth.

 

“That she’s one of the most obnoxious people I’ve ever come to have feelings for.”

 

It happened almost so quickly Laura didn’t realize that Carmilla had leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to the corner of her mouth. Laura’s breath hitched in her chest and she hastily dropped the sketchbook to the desk.

 

_“Kiss me again-please.”_ She whispered, fingers reaching and curling around Carmilla’s waist.

 

Carmilla grinned shyly and leaned in again, this time with Laura’s full attention. Laura’s eyes slid closed and she felt Carmilla cradle her jaw. She smiled into the artist’s mouth and then kissed her firmly, her nose pressing into Carmilla’s cheek. Carmilla was solid and welcoming against her with gentle affection. She smelled of dusty charcoal and fresh earth, tasting of just hint of the black coffee she nursed through the day. Warmth exploded in Laura’s chest and she slid her arms further around the slender woman, sighing in contentment as Carmilla slanted her mouth and pressed in. She let the small studio fall away for just a moment. Her heart thundered against her ribs and Laura decided this was the best thing that had happened to her this week.

 

Carmilla hummed lowly and gave a few quick kisses before leaning back a bit. Her cheeks were flushed a pretty pink and a grin pulled at her lips. Laura caught her breath but didn’t know what to say. She just wanted to kiss Carmilla again.

 

“ _Well._ ”

 

Carmilla laughed and gave her another kiss. “You have charcoal on your face.” She murmured.

 

“Oh gee, I wonder who’s fault that is.” Laura pretended to gripe.

 

“Just shut up.”

 

Laura didn’t need to be told twice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i stared at this for too long and my dog keeps smacking her lips what the fuck ever have some happy hollstein yolo

**Author's Note:**

> I'll update when my brain lets me, so don't count on a schedule for this. Sorry!


End file.
